


In Her Grief, She Twists the Wrong Way

by mangocianamarch



Series: Le Livre de L'un par La Dame Marciana [21]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Quest: Protect Clan Lavellan, F/M, Falling In Love, Implied Female Lavellan/Solas, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, established solas/lavellan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 12:45:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5005294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangocianamarch/pseuds/mangocianamarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Odette Lavellan receives grave news, she finds friendship in the Commander, but they may be biting off more than they can chew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Her Grief, She Twists the Wrong Way

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up one day and this plotbunny was literally the first thing my brain supplied me with that morning, mainly because I'm currently doing the Solasmance with my Inquisitor [Odette](http://ledamespoopyciana.tumblr.com/tagged/odette%20lavellan), but can't seem to let go of Cullen. 
> 
> I've been working on this for most of the week, and it's past midnight on Thursday evening/Friday morning, so if it feels a little rushed or incoherent especially towards the ending, that's the reason for it. Mood song for this is "Lover, You Should've Come Over" by Jeff Buckley (but see if you can look up Troy Baker's live cover of this at MomoCon 2014, it's also beyond fantastic). Also, I am unbeta'd as usual, so any mistakes are my own, and I would always appreciate anyone pointing them out so I can fix them. :D
> 
> Also, comments would be great :D

If Cullen thinks the sound of Odette’s lilting laughter makes his task hard, it’s nothing compared to the unadulterated cheer and joy on her face as she howls at Dorian’s continuing story. Not that it’s a rare sight to see the Inquisitor smiling or hearing her chuckling – she’s a particularly bright presence, so bright, _too bright_ sometimes, and the thought of that makes Cullen’s stomach churn, his fingers pressing harder on the parchment between them as he approaches.

Before Cullen can get a word of greeting out, Odette turns, flashing him that sunlight-white smile,  and Cullen nearly chokes on his own tongue.

“Commander!” Odette calls, raising her tankard, some of her party doing the same, “Have a seat, grab a pint, drinks have been on me for the past half-hour, and it seems they’re going to be for the rest of the day, thanks to these cheap louts.”

“I, er…” Cullen stammers, and there’s a very unhelpful twinkle in Dorian’s eye as he sends him an all-too knowing half-smirk, “That’s very generous, Inquisitor, but --”

“Oh, not more work, Cullen!” Odette huffs, “You’re _always_ working! You probably work in your sleep. Sleepworking. Is that a thing? Does anyone know?”

Sera and Blackwall start to give Odette some half-joking long-winded explanation, Dorian laughs into his ale, Iron Bull lets out a short “Pfft, I bet _he_ knows,” and Cole’s head swivels from one person to another. Cullen clears his throat to get Odette’s attention again, and when she turns to him, she’s still smiling.

Cullen doesn’t remember hating his job more than in this moment.

“Inquisitor, I…” he tries, “There’s something you need to see.”

But Odette waves him off. “It can wait, can’t it?” she pleads,  “We’ve just gotten back from a day or two on the road,  before which we took down our third – THIRD – high dragon, before which we closed a handful of rifts and took down a Maker-damned amount of demons and Venatori. I’d say a break isn’t just much-deserved, it’s much- _needed_.”

Cullen shakes his head. “Inquisitor, this --”

“ _You_ need a break too, you know,” Odette says, cutting him off, “You’re always either training the troops, or reading reports --”

“Inquisitor, please, I think --”

“—Or mapping battles, or checking on Skyhold’s fortifications, or --”

“ _Odette_.”

Using her name always was effective in getting her attention, and now is no exception. Odette stops, and the rest of the party quiet down as well, and now all eyes are on Commander and Inquisitor, and the Fade be damned if that isn’t making things worse for Cullen.

He clears his throat, too aware of Odette’s eyes on him, her expression somewhere between amusement and intrigue. “Inquisitor,” he says again, offering the parchment in his hand to her, “This is a report on one of the missions we sent out some time last week. You need to read it.”

Odette’s frame seems to ease up, and she chuckles, looking around at her friends as she reaches for the report. “Cullen, if that’s all --”

But Cullen tightens his grip on the report as she pulls it from his hand, and again, Odette stops. “Not here,” he says, “You’ll want some privacy for this. You’re welcome to use my office if you wish, as it is the closest.”

Perhaps it’s his serious tone, or the serious expression on his face, but Odette seems to finally realize that something is wrong. Cullen watches her expression change, the laughter slowly leaving her grin as it falls and thins out. Cullen feels his heart twist.

“Cullen?” Odette asks, her tone soft, “What’s going on?”

“I…” Cullen sighs, “It’s best that you read the report. Everything is explained there. But as I said, privacy is highly recommended.”

No one else says a word as Odette finally rises, and Cullen relinquishes his hold on the parchment. “I’ll, er…” Odette tells the party, “I’ll attend to this. Just…keep going, all right? I’ll be back.” She turns to Cullen again, her _vallaslin_ skewering slightly as her brows furrow. “You said your office is empty right now?”

“And close by,” Cullen replies, “I’ll give you a few moments alone.”

Odette’s round eyes cast down, the light in the orange of her irises seeming to dim, and Cullen absolutely _hates_ that he did that, had cut her cheer short only to deliver such dire news, _hates_ that this report even had to be written in the first place.

“Not good then, I take it?” The Iron Bull asks once Odette is out of the tavern.

Cullen shakes his head, sighs heavily. He thinks he can feel the actual weight of his armour on his shoulders, dragging him down and into the ground.

Varric signals to the barkeep, who is quick in bringing a full tankard to them. “That’s yours, Curly,” the dwarf states, “You look like you’re going to need it.”

“You’re wrong, Varric,” Cullen answers, “I’ve needed it since that report landed on my desk.” He takes the tankard and gulps down about half of the drink. It’s strong and heady, and it clings as it goes down his throat.  He plops himself into the seat vacated by Odette, and if anyone is surprised by this, no one says a thing about it. They all watch him, and he can feel them all watching him, waiting, not wanting to ask out loud. Cullen takes another swig.

“No, I won’t be the one to tell you what’s happened,” he says firmly, “It’s not my place. And it isn’t yours either, Cole,” he adds for good measure, gesturing at him with his tankard, “So just…don’t.”

“But I can help,” Cole answers, his voice as sing-song as ever.

Another sip. “Not this time, Cole,” Cullen tells him. When Cole opens his mouth to insist, Varric waves him down. The silence presses against Cullen’s ears as he downs the last few inches of his tankard. He sighs heavily, waves the empty pint at the barkeep.

“Another.”

 

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~

 

When Cullen knocks on the heavy wooden door and calls to the Inquisitor, there’s no answer. He tries again, letting her know it’s just him, but still to no avail. The locks give way when he tries the handle, and Cullen is slow and deliberate when he opens the door and walks in.

He doesn’t find Odette at first, not with the light dying outside his small windows as sunset bleeds into dusk. He calls her name, quiet and low, as if a decibel higher might hurt her. Hurt her _more_. When there’s no reply, he stops his wandering, listens in the silence, and only then does he hear a tiny sniffle, a sharp intake of breath.

Odette is on the floor, behind his table, knees hugged close and under her chin, her hand shaking as it holds up the report. Tears fall freely down her cheeks, but she isn’t wailing, or maybe she’s finished wailing and Cullen has missed most of it. He keeps her distance, watches her and waits for her to be the first to speak, because truth be told, he doesn’t know what to say. Should he apologize? Should he offer his condolences? Should he put a hand on her shoulder and tell her everything will be all right?

“What happened?”

Cullen has never heard her so… _broken_. Her voice is caught in her throat and her tears aren’t making it any easier for her to speak, but she glares at him through wet eyes, the strangely alluring mix of green and orange in them dimmed.  It takes Cullen a while to get his bearings back.

“Inquisitor, you --”

“What. Happened?” she asks, teeth grit behind her thin, pale lips.

Cullen lets out a heavy breath. He walks to the window, knows she’s watching him, can’t look at her as he recounts the events that led to her clan’s deaths. He tries to tell her honestly, tries to remember everything the captain had told him. He’s careful, chooses his words, chooses the situations and details, but Odette’s face remains hard and passive, tears still sliding quietly down her cheek, the only indication that she’s receiving anything he’s saying.

“Odette, I’m…I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t know what else to say.

Odette sniffs, wipes away at her cheek with some force. “What for?” she huffs, “You didn’t do anything. This isn’t your fault. It’s mine. It’s _fucking_ mine.”

She punctuates her cuss with a bang of her head backwards onto the hard, unyielding wood of his desk. Cullen winces at the dull thud that echoes from the impact. He squats down, opposite her, offers to take the report away from her, but she pulls it out of his reach and waves it in the air in front of her.

“This whole _fucking_ thing is _my fault_ ,” she says again, “They’ve been asking for my help and what did I do? I sent nobles, I sent spies, I sent soldiers. I should’ve sent _myself_ , but no, I fucking _hid_ behind my responsibilities, didn’t I? Fucking put _Inquisitor business_ in front of this – I can’t make it down there, but here’s some people with some weapons, I’m sure they can fucking _do something about this!_ ”

Odette hurls the clipboard away, and it clangs against Cullen’s bookshelf and falls to the floor, pages coming loose and floating away. Odette’s crying intensifies, and she digs the heels of her palm into her eyes.

Cullen doesn’t think twice about closing the distance between them, settling onto his knees as he scoops her form into him, his arms circling her and rocking her gently. “It is _not_ your fault,” he tries to reassure her, a hand stroking down her hair as she sobs into his chest, “You did everything you could.”

“No, I bloody well did not!” Odette replies, “I should have been there! I should have made sure they were safe! I  could have brought them _here_! But I didn’t, and now they’re gone, _they’re all bloody gone_ , and I…”

The rest of her words dissolve into gasps and whimpers, and Cullen shushes her softly, offers his condolences and tries to promise her that she will be all right. He feels her clutch at his armour, at his coat, apologies to her family and friends spilling from her lips in both Elven and the common tongue, and the more of them Odette remembers, the harder she cries. Cullen simply holds her, tries to keep her together even as he can feel her breaking from the inside out. As the dusk dies out completely outside his window, he looks up, past the hole in his roof, up to the stars, and quietly asks the Maker for strength, but not for himself. In his head, he recites prayers, commends Clan Lavellan into the Maker’s hands, unsure if Odette would mind, hoping she wouldn’t. He asks Andraste to come hold Her Herald in Her heart and take her pain away.

Odette turns her face into him, buried into his shoulder, her fingers gripping the feather lining as her body is racked by another fit of sobs. Cullen doesn’t fight the urge to turn his head and plant a small kiss in her hair. In that moment, he doesn’t regret it, doesn’t think about the implications and what it might mean, to her, to _him_. It just feels right, and when he feels some of Odette’s shaking begin to subside, he knows he has helped, even a little.

 

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~

 

Morning warmth wakes Odette, slowly but surely. Her eyelids flutter, and the first thing she registers is the bed beneath her, _her_ bed, before the brightness of the sun starts to help clear her mind.

She sits up gingerly, the covers falling to pool on the bed as she looks around,  as if she can’t recognize her own room. She doesn’t remember making it here at all, doesn’t even remember falling asleep, but she had, apparently, and there, on the couch, is a possible explanation.

Cullen is laid out on the sofa, long legs barely fitting in the width of it, his cloak and armour on the floor. One arm is propped across his forehead, and his chest falls and rises with his steady breathing as he sleeps. He must’ve brought her here some time last night. Odette definitely remembers his office, remembers the floor and the report, and the tears, _so many tears_ , she hadn’t been able to stop crying. But Cullen hadn’t seemed to mind, had been there the whole time, and apparently here the whole night. He didn’t have to. He shouldn’t have. What _must_ he think of her now, Odette can’t help but wonder. She doubts he had ever seen her like that, doesn’t think she herself has seen herself like that since…

Odette is standing beside the couch now, looking down, looking at Cullen, watching him. Like this, no control over his expressions, he looks…younger somewhat, beautiful in the ease of slumber, even seems almost peaceful. Almost, if only because of a slight twitching at his temples. Is he dreaming? His lips part, and he murmurs, voice all but inaudible, words incoherent. What is he dreaming about?  His brows furrow, lines creasing his forehead, and Odette is unable to stop herself from reaching down, a gentle caress of her fingertips. The lines disappear, his face smoothens, and Odette thinks, as her hand moves down to his cheek, her palm cupping his jaw, that he might have nuzzled into her touch a little, and the warmth of his skin tingles across hers.

But then Cullen starts to stir, slowly, groaning gravelly in his throat, and his arm moves down to rub at his eyes. Too fixated on his face, Odette forgets to take her hand away. If this surprises Cullen, he doesn’t let on, but she sees his eyes find hers as sleepiness leaves him to slowly be replaced by consciousness.

“Good morning,” Odette greets gently, as if he’s still sleeping and she’s afraid to wake him.

“Ode—Inquisitor,” he replies, and maybe it’s this that reminds Odette as well, and now she draws her hand back, “How…How are you?”

She steps back to give him space to sit up, watches as he cringes a little as his legs stretch out as he swings them off the armrest and onto the floor. “Fine, I think,” Odette answers, and she realizes it’s the truth, “Did you bring me here?”

“Er, yes,” Cullen replies, a bit bashful, as he bends and starts strapping his greaves back on, “You’d cr—fallen asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you. I’d have offered my own bed, but… _ladder_.”

“You stayed,” she says, as if that wasn’t already obvious.

“Yes, I…” Cullen stammers, “You were tossing and turning, talking in your sleep…I had to make sure you’d be all right. As it got later and later, I decided it would be better to stay the night. Besides, I didn’t think you’d want to wake up alone after yesterday. _Er_ , that is…I mean…” He rubs at the back of his neck, and Odette knows she’ll always find that endearing, “That didn’t come out the way I meant it to.”

“It’s okay,” Odette tells him, “I know what you meant. But I…Cullen, you didn’t have to.”

“Maybe not,” Cullen concurs, “But I wanted to.”

There’s something in the way Cullen gazes up at her from where he’s seated, the tiny smile in the corner of his mouth, the softness of his expression, that makes Odette swallow and heave a breath. She wants to touch him again, something about the warmth of his skin under her fingertips, and her eyes flit down to his lips, and she thinks for a fleeting second like she can feel them on her head, in her hair, on her cheek, on her lips. She can feel her cheeks coloring, and she turns away, rubbing at her wrist; her own nervous tick. “Thank you,” she offers when she finds her voice.

Cullen’s smile stretches, his expression softening further. “You’re welcome, Inquisitor,” he says. He bends to reach for his vambraces, and Odette’s eyes are drawn to the movement of his arm underneath the cotton tunic.

Odette turns away, and she wants to smack herself in the face. She hates it – _hates it_ – when she starts thinking like this, thinking _of him_. She never expects it, of course, it just _happens_ , and she can hardly fault _anyone_ for that happening, but…

No, this is just the grief, she tells herself, the pain of losing her entire clan, and the relief in finding a friend in him. Once her mind is clear again, once she heads out with her companions to resume _Inquisitor busines_ s _,_ she’ll be all right and thinking straight again.

“Inquisitor,” he calls to her, and how is his voice so firm and yet so gentle at the same time, “I was thinking…I don’t know if this will help, but I thought you might want to properly farewell your clan. There’s an alcove just outside Skyhold where a stream runs down to the river. It rises almost to the bank at midday, for reasons I still can’t explain. It isn’t much, but I could show you where, if you’d like to go.”

This man. _This man_. He barely knows her, didn’t know a single person in her clan, calls her by her title, _often stops himself when he calls her by name_ , offers her this, lets her grieve and lets her _feel_. This _fucking_ man.

Fresh tears spring to Odette’s eyes, but the swelling in her chest is far from the sadness of last night. She takes a deep breath through her nose and out her mouth. “Thank you, Cullen,” she says, “It means…That’s very…”

The ties of his vambraces are loose, his hair is mostly askew,  he hasn’t put his cloak on, but his understanding grin is divine. He nods. He knows. “I’ll let you freshen up and attend to whatever matters you need to,” Cullen says, “When you wish to go, you know where to find me.”

Odette nods, chuckling a little when Cullen offers her a small wave goodbye as he pulls his cloak on and starts to leave, finds herself returning the gesture.

Her cheeks are flushed, definitely, and she raises her palms to them as if willing the heat in them to transfer to her hands instead, and something is happening, something is _changing_ , and it’s rooting Odette to the spot. There’s a voice in her ears, telling her exactly what it is, but she shakes her head, unaware that she’s doing it, and tries not to listen. She can’t. She won’t. Because it isn’t true? No, it _is_ , she _knows_ it is, and she is _fucked_ , thoroughly _fucked_ , and she wants to weep again. Odette was never a crier, not like this anyway, and yet here she is, hot wetness stinging just above her lashes, because it doesn’t make sense. No, it _does_ make sense, says the voice, but Odette huffs, tells herself to _shut the fuck up_ , because she doesn’t have _time_ for this. She wants to say goodbye to her family, to her Keeper, to her friends, but first she has to tell her companions, has to apologize for leaving and not coming back, has to tell So—

And there it is. The truth, harsh and hard and _real_. Odette doesn’t finish the thought; it’s caught in her throat and ringing in her ears, and now she’s moving, stripping her clothes off piece by piece as she gets a bath started. She swallows a little as she tests the water – it’s as cold as ever, why does she bother? – letting her brain repeat the reality like a mantra.  This will ground her, make things clearer, she thinks. She hopes.

 

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~

 

As Odette finishes her hushed prayer, she places the flowers gently into the icy water, letting it rush over her hand and drench the petals. Her other hand wipes at her cheek and under her eyes, and one last time, she says their names out loud, commending them one by one to the company of the Creators. When she’s done, she lets go and rises to her feet again, watching the flowers roll down the river with the current.

“ _Dareth shiral_ ,” she sighs, following the offering  with her eyes until they disappear down the side of the mountain. A breeze blows through, as if in reply to her chanting, and she draws her coat tighter around her. Leaves above her head rustle with the wind, and as she looks up at them, the sun shines bright and warm on her face, and Odette can’t help but smile.

“Are you all right?” Cullen asks quietly, his footsteps hardly audible as his feet sink into the snow beneath them.

“Yes,” Odette answers, “…No. But I will be. I suppose I’ll _have_ to be.”

“Have to?” Cullen echoes as she turns to him.

“I must be strong,” Odette tells him, “For them, for the Inquisition. I wasn’t able to do more for my clan, but there’s still so much I can affect as the Inquisitor. I need to be strong to do that.”

Cullen bows his head a bit, shakes it a little, the tiniest of smiles crossing his features as he comes closer, steadying himself by reaching up to the trees and rock. “An admirable sentiment,” he replies, “But pardon me for saying you’re quite wrong. Your pain, your sadness…It isn’t weakness to feel that, to _have_ that. It isn’t weak to cry about loss. If I’ve learned anything from my…rather tumultous past, it’s that thinking those things make us weak will only doom us more.  There are some things you don’t need to fight against, Odette. This is one of them. You shouldn’t dwell, but you don’t need to just shelve it all. It’s a part of you, after all.”

Incredulous that she still has tears left to cry, Odette lets out a wet laugh. “When did _you_ get so smart and insightful?” she teases.

Cullen shrugs, returning her humour. “I have my moments, apparently,” he says. When Odette giggles again and puts a finger to her tears, he reaches out, beating her to it. “I’ve made you cry again.”

“I’m fine,” Odette laughs, “These aren’t sad tears. I’m just…I’m rather touched, that’s all.”

They’re looking at each other, really looking, and Odette is caught up in the moment. His gloved fingers are still on her face, lighter than a feather, but _there_ , under her jaw as his thumb strokes along her cheek. Odette isn’t sure if it’s just a trick of the sunlight, but she thinks Cullen is blushing a little. She clears her throat as Cullen takes his hand back, a little sheepish, and scratches at the back of his neck. The tension remains, as does their lack of distance, and Odette steps away a bit, looking up and down and around for something else to talk about.

“This place...” she breathes, “How did you even find this? It’s rather...off the beaten path.”

Cullen cocks his head to the side a little, casts his eyes around. “This may come as a surprise to you,” he starts, “But I happen to be the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces.” Odette flips him off, and he laughs a little, but continues his explanation. “I had agents scout the fort, of course, take note of any other entrances and weak points. Jim was the one who found this, however, so I suppose we owe him. And no, I haven’t told anyone else about this. Does that make me selfish?”

Odette snorts. “Just a little.” Her palm finds rough bark. “It’s beautiful here, quiet. And this tree, it’s so...sweet.”

“Sweet?” Cullen repeats, and Odette hopes that the tingling at the base of her nape isn’t because he’s watching her as she walks around.

“I know that’s not a word people usually use to describe trees,” she acknowledges, “But I’ve always loved trees. When I was younger, I used to escape into the woods around our grounds and disappear into the highest branches I could find. There was one tree in particular, very tall and very old...It used to speak to me, or at least I thought it did, and when the wind blew through its leaves, it would sing. This tree reminds me of that one.” She must sound so wistful, but she’s lost in the memory now.

“Is this one singing as well?” Cullen asks, reaching to brush his hand through a few leaves, watching the wind disturb them further.

Odette looks up, tries to find the top of the tree. “A little,” she says, “I think it heard me saying the other tree sang, and now it’s trying to, and...” She sighs and giggles. “And you’re making fun of me.”

Something changes about the way Cullen looks at her. “Make fun of you, Inquisitor?” he says, and he’s close again, “I would never.” He’s _very_ close. “I could never.”

Cullen is the first to move. Or maybe she is. Or maybe it’s both of them, moving together, meeting in the middle. Whatever the case, the distance disappears, and Odette is pressing into him and being pressed into him as their lips meet at last, Odette’s sigh disappearing into his mouth as he opens to her. She pulls at his cloak, trying to draw him closer, and at the same time, the arm he has around her tightens, and Odette whimpers when their kiss deepens. She doesn’t even feel that she’s flexing her feet to reach him, doesn’t even register the wind picking up a little around them, so lost is she in the warmth of his embrace and the heat of his kiss. When his tongue brushes against her bottom lip, Odette feels her knees go weak, but Cullen is _there_ , holding and pulling and keeping her upright.  It’s too much and not enough, and she can’t stop, _doesn’t want to_.

But they do, they stop, even if it is slow and hesitant. The first thing past Odette’s lips is Cullen’s name, more breath than voice. Her head is swimming, as if his kiss was heavy ale or heady tonic, and she has never felt anything like this...

“...I’m sorry.”

That’s Cullen, the sadness in his tone bringing her careening out of the moment. Odette looks up at him, sees his eyes are sad as they search her face, his fingers brushing locks of hair away from it.

“You’re sorry?” Odette asks, “You kiss every last breath out of me, and you’re _sorry_?”

“Yes,” Cullen answers, firm and sure and _sad_ , “It shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have...” He clears his throat, relinquishing his hold on her, and immediately Odette feels the cold of the climate bite into her skin at the loss. “I’ve overstepped,” he says, his expression grave, “It can’t – it _won’t_ happen again, Inquisitor. You have my word.”

The change is more sudden than the kiss, and it feels as though Odette has walked into a wall, or been doused by a bucket full of ice cold water. With a shake of his head, Cullen starts walking away. Odette’s mind is already after him, but her body is stuck, still shocked, or maybe angry, or dejected, or...

“Cullen, wait,” Odette pleads when her feet finally chase him, “Talk to me, please. Cullen. _Cullen_!”

She grabs his wrist and tugs, and he turns, but doesn’t – can’t? – look her in the eye.

“Cullen, please,” Odette begs as the wind blows a little harder around them, “Just...Tell me what I did wrong.”

The sigh that Cullen heaves is so heavy, it makes the plates of his armour jangle. “It isn’t you, Odette,” he answers, “Or...Or maybe it is, a little. I don’t...It was impulsive, I wasn’t thinking properly, or at all, it seems, otherwise it wouldn’t have happened. I took advantage of your grief, I lost control, and I...” He trails off, sighs. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“But you _did_ ,” Odette points out, “You kissed me, and I kissed you back, _because I wanted to_. I’ve never been kissed like that, and now I’m never going to be able to stop thinking about it.”

This loosens Cullen up a little, and he offers her a small grin out of the scarred corner of his mouth. “Neither will I, to be perfectly honest,” he tells her, “But we must. We _must_ stop thinking about it. Especially around Cole.”

“...Cole?” Odette echoes, “What does Cole have to do with anything?”

Cullen’s frown falls even more. “Cole will hear,” he reminds her, “He always does, and he’s rather...indiscriminate with what he blurts out, and when. I wouldn’t want Solas to find out and...misunderstand.”

Odette’s breath hitches, and a lump forms in her throat. _Creators. How did I fucking forget?_

She only becomes aware that their fingers had been intertwined when Cullen pulls his away from hers. There’s a rumble, somewhere far off, and Cullen looks up at the skies; they’re turning grey. “We should head back and get indoors,” he advises, “Before the storm hits.”

Odette blinks, twice, thrice. Another rolling roar, a little closer this time, and she flinches. Cullen steps aside. “I’ll take point,” he tells her, all business again, sturdy and certain in his role, “After you, Inquisitor.”

“I...right,” Odette stutters, clenching her fists at her sides, trying to steel herself, “Right.”

One step, two, three. She finds her footing in the snow, walking ahead of Cullen and trying very, _very_ hard to work past her confusion and emotions.

She doesn’t make it too far. She turns on her heels, her feet kicking up powdery snow as she rounds on him.

“One last thing,” she says, and it irks her that she sounds as though she’s demanding, “Answer me this one more thing, and I swear I won’t think or speak of this moment again.”

Cullen lets out a low breath, but he nods.

“It wasn’t just me, right?” Odette asks, “It _isn’t_ just me that’s... _feeling_ things?”

“....Odette...” Cullen trails off.

Odette stomps, frustrated. “Tell me,” she says, “I need to know, and maybe it’ll be easier to stop.”

Cullen rubs at his temples. “I highly doubt that,” he breathes.

“Why?” Odette shoots back, and she curses a handful of her gods as she feels new tears under her eyelids.

Cullen deflates, his entire frame going slack, and now he’s looking at her again, yellow-brown eyes meeting her dually-colored own, and Odette can feel his melancholy as he comes close and puts a palm to her cheek. “You’re beautiful, Odette,” he says softly, sincerely, “And special. Very special. From the moment I met you, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. But I wasn’t sure...I didn’t know if...But I’ve missed my opportunity, haven’t I? Despite what you think you feel for me, you are with someone else, _because you wanted to_ , and I cannot fault you for that.” The strengthening wind messes her hair, and he brushes it away from her face. “But believe me when I say that...if circumstances were different...”

For a moment, Odette thinks he’s going to kiss her again, a punctuation on a promise. But Cullen sighs, shakes his head, and lets her go.

“You’re making a habit of not finishing sentences,” Odette prods, but Cullen just chuckles.

“It would be far too easy to blame that on you, Inquisitor,” he says, but it hardly helps, “Let’s get back inside.”

He proffers his arm in the general direction of their way back into the fort. Odette breathes in through her nose, pulling herself to her full height, straightening her spine and raising her chin. “Thank you, Commander,” she supplies, “For...well, _this_.”

“This?” Cullen asks.

“This,” Odette repeats, waving her hand indicatively, “Your alcove, your company. Your honesty.”

If Cullen is about to give her a reply, he seems to think better of it; he closes his mouth, purses his lips, and nods instead. Odette knows that’s as much as she’ll get out of him now, after... _everything_. Willing herself to be steady, to not think about added pain on top of the grief of losing her clan in one fell swoop, Odette marches up the path, the Commander close behind her.

 

 

 

 

**~ END. ~**


End file.
